


Lick Me Till Ice Cream

by khasael



Series: Ice Cream & Innuendo [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Mirror Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6520996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles learns of Derek's Thing for his hands. And gets Ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lick Me Till Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'd meant to write literally 6-7 lines of "here's a little glimpse of Derek getting to enjoy Stiles's hands/forearms" as an epilogue, in the original fic...and then somehow, suddenly, I had this. Including it anyway, as its own thing, for anyone who might enjoy 6k of hand!kink. If you want photo images of said hands, and clicked here without reading the original fic, there are a whole bunch of them linked in the ending author's notes to that.

It's hot and muggy out, the sort of August night that feels like the inside of one of the tropical greenhouses at the gardens, and Derek thinks it might be the best he's had in a long time.

"You know, you're like the only person who hasn't tried to liquor me up in the last twenty-two hours." Stiles leans against the wall of Derek's building, waiting while Derek fumbles with his keys. He finally locates the right one and gestures Stiles inside; though Stiles has been here twice before, he's always come in the other way, through the main entrance instead of through the garage. "I think I find it charming."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. And my liver appreciates the hell out of it, quite honestly. And also for you forcing me to hydrate and take my B vitamins before we went out."

Derek remembers his own twenty-first—and the subsequent two-day hangover—well enough to want to spare Stiles that sort of pain. His dick friends had gotten him as trashed as possible, and he'd been too sure Laura would have laughed at him the morning after to call and ask for her advice. 

He's pretty sure the voicemail she'd left early that morning, the one that was nothing but an air-horn blaring out the single-pitch version of the "Happy Birthday" song, meant she'd known all too well what he and his friends had been up to at the bar once it had hit midnight. 

"Yeah, well, I kind of wanted to spend time with you and have you remember it later. The thing where you're not hugging a toilet bowl all night is definitely a plus."

"No argument here." He steps into Derek's apartment, blinking once Derek flips on the light in the entryway. "Aw, you _do_ have pretty flowers in here! I knew it!" he calls once he reaches the living room, and Derek flushes. He'd sort of hid them the one time Stiles had come inside before, figuring he could leave the ferns in place and maybe not have the delicate pink and purple blooms sitting out for a first impression. Derek rounds the corner to find Stiles very gently stroking the petals of the nearest plant, murmuring something about it being soft and fuzzy and adorable. He's about to make some smartass comment, but finds himself distracted by Stiles's hands.

He's been looking a lot, tonight. All throughout dinner, whether Stiles was playing with his fork, or the straw in his glass, or even just telling a story in that animated way he has, where his hands are always moving. Derek's just glad they didn't do something like take a pottery class together, because he'd have been screwed.

Stiles glances back at him, then follows Derek's gaze, snatching his hand back. "Sorry. Touching them isn't going to kill them or anything, is it?"

"No."

"Oh, good. I thought from the intense sort of stare you had going there that I'd committed some ultimate plant sin."

"No, I..." Derek clears his throat. Fuck, he might as well just say it. He and Stiles haven't officially used the terms "dating" or "boyfriend" or anything like that just yet; they've been out a handful of times, seen some band Stiles likes, watched a couple of movies he'd brought over to Derek's once, played video games at Stiles and Scott's place, had a couple of cups of coffee and one quick lunch at the botanical gardens on one of Derek's days off. They've kissed a few times, sort of awkward but still good, but that's as far as it's gone, and as far as Derek's gone with _anyone_ in at least nine months. He hasn't yet confessed to Stiles his whole issue, that weird thing that Derek had been minorly obsessing over since the first time they met. "I was watching your hands."

Stiles's eyebrows go up. "What, these?" He raises both hands, wiggles his fingers, and Derek is pretty sure Stiles starts to figure it out by the way his eyes track it all as he swallows harder than usual. "You have a thing for them or something?"

"Or something, yeah," Derek admits. "I noticed them the first time we met."

"What, at the shop?" Stiles rotates one of his hands around between them, moving his fingers slowly. Yeah, he's definitely teasing now.

"Yeah."

"Noticed what, exactly? What'd you think?"

"They reminded me of a concert pianist or artist or something, I don't know. They just caught my eye."

Stiles moves forward, puts his right hand flat over Derek's chest. "I guess my fingers are kind of long, huh?" He taps his middle finger against the fabric of Derek's T-shirt once, then trails his index finger up over his sternum, moving along the collar bone and cresting along over his shoulder, dragging it lightly down Derek's bicep, letting his hand rest at the crook of Derek's elbow, just barely in contact with the skin. "And maybe dexterous."

Derek's breath is briefly, unexpectedly shaky in a way that's embarrassing, but Stiles doesn't seem to care about that. Or, he does, but not in the way Derek was afraid of.

"You have a hand kink!" Stiles says excitedly. "Or fingers, maybe, whichever. I'm not judging. I can't tell you the number of times I've thought about beard burn over the last couple of months, and facial hair has never done a thing for me in the past."

That's... very intriguing, and gets Derek to at least think about something else other than Stiles's hands for a second. "You have?"

"Dude, totally. We'll get to that in a minute. Anything else you want to tell me you've been thinking about or looking at? Because I am totally thinking we can do something about this little affinity of yours tonight."

For just a moment, Derek forgets to breathe. He doesn't know exactly what Stiles is thinking, but if he's kinda into doing something he thinks Derek would like, given what he's just admitted to in the last minute or so, Derek is fairly willing to give it a shot. 

"C'mon, big guy. Any other fantasies or interests? I'll tell you mine, I promise."

"Your forearms," Derek blurts, voice raspy. That's definitely embarrassing. Jesus, they haven't even gotten to actual dirty talk, and he already feels like that's what's happening.

"You totally were into watching me mix that ice cream, weren't you?" Stiles smirks. "Again, not judging. But you were. I thought I caught you staring, once."

"That's the only time you caught it?" Jesus, he'd figured he'd been so obvious about that.

"I might've been looking at your shoulders or pecs and thus too busy to really notice where you were looking, some of the other times." He smirks at Derek's raised eyebrows. "What? That's like, right at glass-top level, when I'm working. Totally looks like I'm looking at the containers of mix-ins instead of wondering what you were doing that has you looking flushed, and what the hell kind of work you do that has you in that kind of shape, even though you keep coming in for high-calorie desserts."

"You were looking, too, huh?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm guessing neither of us was as subtle as we were hoping, though, given that the dickhole with the disgusting order called us out on flirting. I'm just glad my boss was in the back just then, because that guy loves to be a pain in the ass about everything. Bad enough, getting cock-blocked."

"So I _did_ hear you right," Derek snorts. "Thought my ears were playing tricks on me."

"Are you kidding me? I was absolutely hitting on you, or trying. Scott had been giving me pep talks. If I'd seen you anywhere but work that first time, I'd probably have fallen all over you. I'd have made such an idiot out of myself, there's no way you'd have ever gone out with me. But here we are."

"Here we are." Derek leans in and kisses Stiles, slow and easy. 

Well, it starts out that way, and then Stiles snakes a hand up under Derek's shirt, thumbs his nipple before dragging his short nails lightly down Derek's chest and stomach, and suddenly it's a little less sweet and a lot dirty. 

"Yeah, there we go," Stiles breathes as they break apart, moving his hand down enough to graze over the front of Derek's jeans, where Derek's just starting to get hard. "You okay with this?"

"Definitely."

"Good." Stiles kisses him again, quick and light. "Let me know if you're not, at any point. And I'll do the same, okay?" Derek nods, and Stiles grins, pushing lightly at his shoulders until Derek gets the hint and plops down on the couch, Stiles climbing up onto his lap and straddling him, sitting in a way that leaves both his hands free. "Fuck, I don't know if you're lifting full-grown trees or whatever at work every day," he says, sliding his hands up under Derek's shirt until Derek's forced to raise his own arms to let Stiles remove it the rest of the way, "but whatever you're doing, you should market it, with results like this." He tosses the shirt onto the nearest arm of the couch. "Also, seriously, are you blushing?"

"No," Derek says, though he almost certainly is. It's been a while since he's been laid. And while he's not going to assume that's what's going to happen here tonight, because he doesn't want to be a presumptuous asshole, it's still way more attention of this sort than he's had in a long time. He knows he's at least fairly good-looking, because he gets told that at clubs and bars a lot, and it's not like he's never been hit on, but he does sometimes still find it embarrassing, when the praise is so blatant. 

"Liar," Stiles murmurs, but it's amused. He thankfully drops it when Derek leans up a little, making Stiles have to compensate to keep his balance, and gets his own hands against Stiles's skin, resting against his back. Stiles isn't built at all the same as Derek is, but Derek is definitely into the leaner sort of muscle mass he's got going. He pulls Stiles's T-shirt off easily and leans back, taking in the view, creamy, pale skin dotted lightly with moles in a pattern Derek wants to trace with his tongue. 

So he does.

Stiles breaks out in goosebumps when Derek gets to the place where his neck and shoulder meet. He lightly grazes his teeth over the skin there before sucking over the spot, and the soft, quiet moan Stiles lets out makes Derek's dick twitch. He remembers something Stiles said a few minutes ago, nudges Stiles's jaw with his nose, and lets his chin drag over the same spot, gentle enough it shouldn't hurt, but enough that Stiles should feel the friction. And it's obvious he does, because he reaches a hand up, runs two fingers along the bit of skin that's now pink against the white, and hums. 

And totally catches Derek looking again.

The look on his face is wicked, and dear God, Derek loves it. Stiles is a smartass, but he's the kind of witty smartass Derek finds appealing, and it's becoming apparent that Stiles has a quick mind, in general. 

Stiles pushes him against the back of the couch again, and Derek gets one really good look at his eyes, that warm whiskey brown with dark, extra-wide pupils, before Stiles runs the fingers of one hand through Derek's hair, tugging lightly and making Derek's eyelids flutter. They stay there, moving over his scalp in a way Derek doesn't think anyone's done before, an indescribable combination of relaxing and arousing, and then Stiles's other hand comes up and his thumb strokes over Derek's lower lip.

He can't even help the noise he makes, because fuck, that little thing was unexpectedly hot.

He chases after it, nipping playfully at the tip of the thumb, then licking it, hoping Stiles is okay with the whole thing. The answering hum indicates he is, and the next thing Derek knows, Stiles is doing the motion again, keeping his thumb in place this time when Derek's tongue darts out to meet it. Derek flicks his eyes up to meet Stiles's, keeping their gazes locked as he opens his mouth more, then takes Stiles's thumb into his mouth and sucks, flicking his tongue against the tip.

"Fuck, shit," Stiles mutters, shifting his hips on Derek's lap. "Okay, that was, yeah." He removes his thumb and Derek's hoping that wasn't too far, too quick, but then Stiles holds his middle finger up in the same spot, hesitating for just a moment before easing it slowly inside.

Stiles's fingers are long and thin, and it's not quite like giving a blowjob, but Derek approaches it with the same degree of attention. He can get suction easier, for one, wrap his tongue actually around it, and he moves his head back and forth just a little, just enough that Stiles can help guide him along, if he gets the hint and is into it.

From the way his right hand leaves Derek's hair to press against the front of Stiles's jeans, Derek assumes that, yeah, Stiles is into it.

Stiles is sort of grinding against him carefully a few minutes later, like he's trying to save one or both of them from potential friction burn, three fingers working their way in and out of Derek's mouth, when he pulls back, panting just a little. "You good?" he asks, his fingers going still before he removes them so Derek can answer.

Derek almost can't believe Stiles has to even ask that question. Fuck yes, he's good. He'd be better if he could get those fingers back, could maybe get Stiles to let his other hand wander over Derek's skin wherever he might want to touch. "Yes." He's never had anyone really fuck their fingers into his mouth, but he's so into it, and Stiles has had seemingly no issues with that, or Derek tracing the veins on the backs of his hand with his tongue, or the licking and biting of Stiles's flexing forearms. 

Stiles hesitates, just for a moment. "You okay to maybe, uh, escalate this a bit? Maybe into a pants-free sort of territory?"

His dick actually jumps from within his jeans, like it's afraid Derek will do something stupid, like lie and say no, he's not up for that. "I'm definitely okay with that."

"Awesome."

Derek helps Stiles up, because there's no way they're removing anything else they're wearing while still sitting on the couch without someone falling off or getting kneed somewhere that is going to put a definite hitch in the proceedings. He pauses for a kiss when they're both standing, pleased Stiles apparently has no problems whatsoever with the spit that's smeared during the action, if his enthusiasm is anything to go by. 

"So, this might be an awkward question," Stiles says as he pulls away, still keeping one hand on Derek's chest. "But, uh, are you clean, or do we need to take extra precautions, or...?"

"I don't have anything," Derek says, slightly surprised by the blunt question, but thankful at least they're getting this out in the open now, instead of when it's either too late, or way more awkward. "I mean, I'm clean. I have stuff, if we need it."

... He's pretty sure the condoms in his nightstand drawer are still good. Definitely something to verify.

"Good. Me too." Stiles's grin is crooked. "So, uh, as for what I was thinking earlier...."

"Yeah?"

"You don't happen to have a full-length mirror anywhere in this place, do you?"

He has two, actually. There's one on the inside door of the bathroom, with a small crack in the lower left corner that's been there since before Derek moved in two years ago. The other is a little more intense—like all of the bedrooms in this building, the closet has sliding doors that are entirely made of mirror glass. "Bedroom and bathroom."

"Bedroom it is, then," Stiles says, walking down the small hallway and towards the bedroom door as Derek follows right behind. Stiles has only been over the one time before, but the door to the bedroom had been shut then (flowering plants hidden safely inside), and Stiles hadn't made any mention of the room, and neither had Derek.

It's not spotless inside, but Derek had made sure to at least tidy up the place before he'd left to pick Stiles up for their late-night date, so there's nothing to trip on in the dark before he flips the light switch on. Stiles sees the mirrored doors right away, and turns to face Derek, a huge grin stretched over his face. "Oh yeah. That's gonna work just fine."

"It is?" Derek still isn't entirely sure what Stiles has planned here, nor why he wants a long mirror. Maybe he's into watching himself have sex? That's no weirder than Derek's apparent hand kink thing he didn't know he had until a few months ago. In fact, both of them are really pretty damned tame, by kink standards.

"Yep. You ready to trust me? I promise I won't get offended if you don't really like it and want to do something else."

Derek's pretty sure he'd give Stiles more leeway than he'd give a lot of people in most situations, and this one is no different. "Yeah." He doesn't really feel worried at all, or even exceptionally vulnerable, even though Stiles is the one calling the shots. Maybe that's because this is his place, his territory, or maybe it's because he's been trusting Stiles on little things since they met, always pleasantly surprised by how well Stiles has guessed what Derek's liked so far, no significant errors at all. "I'm ready." He glances off to his left. The bed's not completely made, but he'd at least thrown the covers up over the sheets and put the pillows where they're supposed to go. "There?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Nope. Just come here."

That's not quite what he's expected, but Derek said he'd trust him. So he moves forward the few steps, easily fitting himself into Stiles's space and leaning in for another kiss. Stiles doesn't try to direct him to do anything else, just kisses back for a few moments until Derek can feel hands start to undo his belt buckle. Stiles gets that done without any fumbling, and the button and zipper of his jeans are undone just as easily, and then Stiles's palm rubs up against his dick, the fabric of his underwear damp and providing just enough friction to make Derek suck in a quick breath. Yeah. Okay. This is definitely going well. 

He rests his own hands on Stiles's hips, holding him close before asking "can I?" against Stiles's neck as he rubs his nose under his jaw, tugging at the waistband of Stiles's pants with one finger.. 

"Totally not going to stop you," Stiles says with a smirk plain in his voice, and then hums appreciatively, because Derek's got his own hand down Stiles's boxers, sliding between the cotton and Stiles's skin, cupping his ass. "Yeah, okay, definitely a good move, I approve."

Derek grins into Stiles's neck, taking his time getting Stiles's pants and underwear all the way down until they're pooled around his ankles. He was right about Stiles being lean and still muscled, a whole-body aesthetic Derek's totally into, just the right combination of lanky and toned. Derek can see Stiles's ass reflected in part of the mirror, a triangular pattern of small moles on the swell of the left cheek, just below Derek's thumb. 

He wonders if he can memorize all the dots on Stiles's skin, wonders if Stiles will let him.

Stiles doesn't seem in any huge hurry to progress this along to the bed and actual sex, and Derek has absolutely no objection to the foreplay. It's a new thing, getting to touch Stiles in this way, being touched with hands that linger and take their time over Derek's body, tugging gently to remove the rest of his clothes and spinning him around while Stiles steps the rest of the way out of his own jeans, kicking everything away with one foot.

"Holy shit, you have a tattoo?" Stiles pauses everything to stare at the mirror, where Derek's large triskele is easy to see across his back and shoulder blades. Derek shrugs a little self-consciously. "Dude. Okay. I normally don't give a shit about that sort of thing, but that's kinda... yeah, I'm gonna go with 'hot.' Totally fits you. Jesus, and the way it moves when you move your shoulders..." He looks up at Derek, eyes wide. "It's kinda doing it for me, not gonna lie."

"Yeah?"

Stiles gestures down to his dick, which is standing up, now that it's finally free of the boxers. "Does it look like I'm kidding?" He steps forward into Derek's space again, only this time instead of kissing, he keeps his gaze on the mirror, trailing fingertips up from the small of Derek's back until he reaches the lowest part of the tattoo, tracing it lightly the whole way around, up one spiral, back to the middle, repeating for all three branches. It makes Derek shiver. And when Stiles takes his other hand and wraps it lightly around Derek's length, stroking gently, the shiver turns into a full-body shudder.

Stiles grins crookedly. "You said you've got stuff?"

Derek's mouth is suddenly a bit dry, but he nods. "Yeah. Just a second." He digs through the nightstand's top drawer and pulls out the bottle of lube that's only just opened, along with a couple of condoms (still in-date, thank God), just in case they need them. He snags the towel from the bedpost, where he'd hung it to dry after his shower a few hours ago, and sets it with the other items. 

"Awesome," Stiles says, looking as though he's trying to analyze some things. "Okay. So. Trust me here. Close your eyes." Derek shuts them dutifully, noticing that his place is a little cooler than usual once he doesn't have much else to focus on. He's probably going to pay for all that air conditioner use later. At least the summer's almost over. "Okay, now, here, just turn, yeah, just like that." Stiles has both hands on Derek's hips, spinning him slowly to where he thinks he's facing the opposite way of where he started. "Perfect."

The next sensation is of Stiles pressing close against Derek's back, his left hand on Derek's left hip. And then there's a warm, slick hand wrapped around Derek's erection, and he jolts, the sensation somewhat heightened without his eyes to prepare him for it, breathing out a startled "whoa" at the touch.

"Still good?"

Derek's answer is less verbal affirmation and more grunt as he reaches one of his own hands behind him and pulls Stiles closer, feeling the firmness of Stiles's dick nestle into the crack of his ass. He grinds back against Stiles, whose breath hitches in a way Derek wants to make him do over and over before the night is through. Yeah, you could say he's good.

"Open your eyes."

Derek obeys, met with the sight of his own reflection standing there next to the dresser naked and aroused, Stiles mostly hidden behind him. His hair is disheveled from Stiles running his fingers through it earlier, and even he can see the slight flush on his face and neck. Stiles's hand is still around Derek's dick, but he hasn't moved it. 

"Tell me if this doesn't do anything for you," Stiles murmurs against Derek's shoulder blade, and before Derek can ask anything, Stiles's other hand slides around Derek's side, moving slowly and deliberately up his ribcage and towards his chest, fingers splaying out over his sternum. Derek tracks their movement in the mirror. The sensation is amplified somehow, being able to watch the movement so clearly and link it to the feeling of warm skin against his own. When Stiles pinches one nipple lightly between left thumb and middle finger at the same time he begins to slowly stroke Derek's dick with his right hand, Derek moans softly, because holy fuck, this is way hotter than it should be.

Stiles takes his time in jerking him off, very gradually increasing the speed as he explores Derek's body in the mirror where they can both see what he's doing. Long fingers trail up and down and across his skin, occasionally pressing into muscles and hitting nerves Derek's never cared about before, teasing and taunting and slowly driving him crazy. Stiles moves his hand lower, caressing Derek's hip and thigh, before dragging his nails gently up his abs and chest, leaving behind the palest of pink trails. When he lays his hand on Derek's shoulder, palm pressing against his pectoral muscle and fingertips digging into the spot on his shoulder just off his collarbone, at the same time he gives his hand a twist while stroking, the muscles bunching and showing so prominently in his forearm, Derek's knees nearly buckle, and he gasps out a harsh "fuck," clutching at the dresser beside him for support. 

Stiles shifts behind him, trying to get back the easy access to Derek's body that had been broken when he jolted, and Derek takes the opportunity to reach a hand back and give Stiles a few strokes of his own, feeling definite satisfaction when Stiles gasps and lets out the breath in a long, shuddering sigh. "When you're ready," Derek says, turning his head so that his mouth is close to Stiles's, "I want to switch places. Because, yeah, I definitely like watching your hands on me." He twists a little more, catching Stiles's mouth for a short, light kiss, all he can really get from this angle. "But I think I'd like seeing your hands on you just as much."

"Jesus, Derek," Stiles exhales against Derek's shoulder, before raising his head again and nodding, catching Derek's gaze in the mirror. "Yeah, okay, we can do that."

They've moved over just a little, enough so that Derek's got himself braced with one hand on the wall, trying to keep himself upright as Stiles strokes him in earnest. Every now and then the hand on his left side stills a little, resting on Derek's hip or over his abs, and Derek can feel Stiles's dick move from its place against his ass as he dips his head forward to mouth at the tattoo or press hard kisses to Derek's shoulder. 

"So fucking hot," Stiles murmurs into his ear, readjusting his position. "I can't wait to see what you look like when I get you off."

"You—you really don't have long to wait," Derek pants. Stiles has been inching him steadily closer to an orgasm for the last few minutes; at this pace, Derek figures he's got maybe another two minutes, absolute tops, before Stiles gets him there. And that's if he keeps trying to hold off, so as to be able to enjoy this for as long as he possibly can. He's only managed it this long because Stiles has paused a couple of times for additional lube, giving Derek the chance to regroup for a few much-needed seconds. 

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Stiles hums as a sort of response, biting Derek's shoulder lightly, and gives his wrist another of those twists, and—shit, okay, maybe he's got even less time than he'd thought. "Fuck, I'm close." His belly and spine are filled with leaden heat, his heart's hammering in his chest in a way Stiles can probably feel with his fingers pressed up against his chest, and he can barely think over the way the pleasure is drowning out everything else. 

This is about a thousand times more intense than any fantasy Derek has had about Stiles's hands and arms, no question. 

"Whenever you're ready," Stiles says, nuzzling at his shoulder and giving it another bite, laving over it with the flat of his tongue just after, as if to soothe it. When he licks one of his fingers and rubs if over Derek's nipple, Derek doesn't even have the wherewithal to be able to warn him. It's like the final step in his launch sequence, and he tenses up completely, whole body spasming as his orgasm rips through him, the sight of Stiles's hand closed around him (fingers slick and shiny as he strokes the final few times, coaxing the last of Derek's release as he struggles to keep himself from collapsing all the way forward) the last thing he really sees before his vision sort of whites out.

It takes him a minute to be able to focus and stand totally upright, and it's all he can really do to catch his breath as he takes in the scene. There's the ring of fog around a hand-shaped print on the upper part of the mirror where he'd had to add the second arm to brace himself, and one small splatter of come on the glass from when he'd jerked forward. He's dizzy, but that doesn't stop him from turning around, reaching out and pulling Stiles close to kiss him even as he's still trying to regain his breath. "Your turn."

"We can wait a minute, if you need—" Stiles begins, but he cuts off abruptly when Derek wraps his hand around his hard length and thumbs at the bit of precome beading at the slit. "O-or we could not wait."

"I told you, I want to see your hands on you," Derek says, slicking the bit of moisture over the head of Stiles's dick, even though his body is insisting that it would be willing to listen and take a little rest, and maybe even a nap. "Come on."

Stiles nods, reaching for the towel to wipe his hand after Derek cleans himself up, tossing it on the floor in front of them when he's done. Derek hands him the lube again, watching as Stiles coats his palm and fingers with it, taking a moment to warm it before glancing at Derek, who nods. Stiles had been pretty focused on Derek for quite a while, occasionally rubbing himself up against Derek's ass while he worked, and it's no surprise he's rock-hard. Hell, what Derek _is_ surprised by is that he's been so quiet and willing to wait for his own pleasure. 

Derek definitely wants to make sure that gets taken care of. And now.

"Yeah, that's what I want to see," Derek murmurs as Stiles takes himself in hand and begins to stroke himself very slowly. He's got just an inch or two of height over Stiles, and it's easier for him to slot himself into place at Stiles's back, able to nose at the spot behind Stiles's ear, not far from his temple, where sweat has made his hair start to curl. He closes his teeth over the shell of Stiles's right ear gently, tugging once before nosing behind the same spot, then licking it, relishing the salty taste of sweat on his tongue. Stiles's eyelids flutter shut and he sighs shakily, hand still going at that slow, steady pace. "Yeah, just like that."

Derek guides Stiles back a half-step, pulls him closer so that his back is pressed against Derek's chest, Derek supporting his weight as Stiles gets more into what he's doing. Derek presses kisses against his neck and shoulder, letting his chin drag over the tender skin now and then as he noses and licks at different places, figuring out where Stiles seems to like it best. He pays attention to when Stiles's breathing quickens, to the soft moans that accompany Derek's light bites and murmured encouragement, to the way his head lolls back against Derek's left shoulder when Derek's hands shift from Stiles's hips to rub lightly at his thighs and where his legs meet his groin—all the while watching the movement of Stiles's hand in the mirror.

When Derek laces his fingers through Stiles's free hand for a moment before bringing it up to shoulder-height so he can nip at Stiles's thumb like he did before, Derek doesn't miss the soft, high noise Stiles makes in the back of his throat, and he grins. Slowly, teasingly, he kisses each fingertip, then opens his mouth around Stiles's middle finger and slides it into his mouth until it's nearly at the back of his throat, sucking hard. 

Stiles curses softly and starts stroking faster.

Definitely interesting.

Derek continues his work on Stiles's hand, working until he's got three back in his mouth like before, and by the time he's basically having his mouth fucked by Stiles's fingers, Stiles is breathing hard, jacking himself steadily. His skin is flushed all the way down his chest, sweat is dripping from one temple, and he's the most beautifully debauched thing Derek has ever seen. He reaches one hand around, able to just get it where he wants it without interrupting Stiles's grip on himself, and cradles Stiles's balls, stroking them with his thumb. The string of curses that falls from Stiles's lips is soft and breathy and definitely hot. 

"Oh, Jesus, I'm not going to last nearly as long as you did," Stiles gasps, using his spit-slick hand to play with his nipple for just a moment before Derek catches it and laces their fingers together for just a moment, squeezing before letting go. Stiles opens his eyes, finding Derek's gaze in the mirror, and shudders. "I'm so fucking close."

"Good," Derek murmurs. "Let me help?"

Stiles's mouth opens on a question, then drops into a soft, open 'O' when Derek uses a hand to join Stiles's on his dick, trying not to break the rhythm. "Fuck, fuck, oh my God, yeah," Stiles gasps. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna—" He convulses with a moan, held up with one of Derek's hands pressed against his chest, and comes all over Derek's fingers in thick, hot ropes before his body goes slack against Derek's, who supports his weight easily enough.

"So," Stiles says, once he's caught his breath and is cleaning himself up, "I've gotta say, that was definitely the best not-sex I've ever had."

Derek laughs, hunting for his clothes before remembering that both of their shirts are in the living room. "Agreed." His eyes flick to the clock display on his old DVD player in the corner. It's after eleven. "Hey. It's late. I can take you home if you want, but... you're welcome to stay here for the night." It's an escalation of their relationship, even more than the other events of the evening, but Derek _wants_ that sort of escalation with Stiles. If this was just about getting laid or something else along those lines, Derek would have just broken down and found someone at a club or let himself be set up by one of his coworkers—not kept going back to some place and ordering something that wasn't even a vice he really enjoyed in the first place.

Stiles looks up at him, blinking as if he really didn't expect the offer. "Yeah, actually, I'd like that." A grin slowly spreads across his face. "Hey, so, tomorrow, when I do leave, would you be willing to make a stop first?"

Derek shrugs. He doesn't see why not. "Where did you want to go?"

Stiles grin turns into a smirk. "Work. They all know today was my birthday, and they're expecting me to turn up hungover and miserable. If you think I'm passing up the opportunity to do the proudest walk of shame _ever_ , instead, you are mistaken." When Derek snorts, Stiles tosses a sock at him. "C'mon. I'll even buy you ice cream. I've still gotta figure out what your favorite thing in that place is."

Rolling his eyes, Derek pulls Stiles onto the bed, figuring they can wait to shower until the morning. "I've already got my favorite thing right here. Why the hell do you think I kept coming back?" He situates himself under the blankets, draping an arm around Stiles, who's curled up with him without any prodding, and yawns. 

"I meant your favorite thing to put in your mouth, you dork," Stiles mumbles, burrowing his face into Derek's chest. He already sounds half asleep.

"I think it's the same thing," Derek says with a grin, and Stiles nudges at him with a small snort of amusement. "I know which thing I'd rather lick, anyway. Or even eat."

"Let me sleep, and maybe we can try that in the morning, after a shower," Stiles mumbles again. "Because I think I still have to tell you about my own fantasies." His words trail off into something very near a snore, which is actually sort of impressive as far as the ability to fall asleep quickly goes.

Derek grins and reaches up, flipping off the light. Sure. He's up for that.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm not totally discounting the possibility of a second porny addition. *shifty eyes* Because if you think I don't have more ridiculous ice-cream-related innuendo/puns to work with as titles (thanks largely to two friends who were seriously on top of being given the opportunity), you are SADLY mistaken.


End file.
